steady as we go
by starkhasheart
Summary: Tony's hitting an all-time low. Pepper's unsure of what to do, so she calls up the other Avengers. What she doesn't expect, however, is some help from a mischievous younger sibling. (TW: self harm, self hate, etc)
1. spiral

Every morning Jarvis's voice brings Tony from the dreamless sleep he's in, informing him to events such as the weather and current headlines in the news Tony could care less about. Tony allows Jarvis to speak, because it's someone talking, albeit a machine; a machine closing resembling that of another human life. Even though it wasn't walking in a human body or breathing.

Tony's day is probably going to start off like it does every day—coffee with a dash of Bailey's, always nice to start off the day with a little buzz. It kept him working, kept his hands busy while his mind ran off equation after equation. That's what it did now, basically. It didn't really help him express his emotions, because lately it's like his feelings had taken a vacation and weren't checking in for a while.

He shrugs mentally. He couldn't care less. It's not like he went out into public anymore; Pepper and SHIELD took care of most (if not all) of his PR, so it's not like he has to worry about his public image.

It's not like he cares, though.

_Caring._ The word rolls around in his mind for a while, and his mind plays with it, twisting it and kneading it until it no longer seems like a word, but gibberish, a made-up language. Tony tosses the word somewhere back into his mind, somewhere in the darkest corners, corners he hasn't touched in years. The places where everything that was wrong with him is piled up, turning into a stagnant mess, getting worse and worse by the progressing year.

Maybe this is why Tony has problems. He keeps avoiding them.

Let it be known that if there is something wrong with Tony Stark, he wouldn't breathe a word of it until it's killing him—maybe even in a literal sense, i.e. the shrapnel clawing its way into his chest. He thinks back to Obie's betrayal, and how he killed the bastard. Maybe that's why he had such trust issues. It was because everyone he ever put faith in had always ended up hurting him in the end.

Maybe that was why he never asked for help.

When he's busy messing with the suits down in his lab he lets his mind wander while his hands did their magic, and how he loved that they had a mind of their own—he can stare off into space and they would continue to work, leaving him time to sort through his thoughts before they conglomerated into a jumbled, frightening mess, like the back of his mind already was. He wasn't going to touch those thoughts though. Not now, and probably not ever.

It's in this very room, here on this day, that Tony Stark admits to himself that something's wrong with him. What's wrong with him exactly, he's not sure of, but he knows something's off. He usually feels better than this, but lately it's like he has to force himself out of bed to do anything normal, like take a shower or eat, which he hasn't been doing much of lately. His ribs are starting to peak slightly from his torso…

_It's not like people care anyway_, he thinks, accidently dropping a wrench. He cursed, bending down, not looking where he was going.

"Dammit!" he grouses when the edge of the table scratches over the length of his forearm and the sting shoots through his body. He clenches his fists and reaches down ever-so-gently to pick up the wrench again, successfully completing his task. He drops the wrench on the table along in the scattering of other tools and stops for a second, feeling the sting from the cut fade slowly as a whelp begins to form and a few dots of blood peak from the surface of his skin. He remembered his skin from a month ago—nice and tan. Now it was dry and pale.

Something strikes within him when he sees the small amount of blood leave his body. He can't quite explain it, but it makes him feel a bit more real, alive, one could say. He could finally say, "_Hey, I'm not empty inside at all!_"

But it wasn't like one little whelp was going to prove to him anything.

Tony steps slowly away from the work desk and starts snapping open drawers and cabinets until he finds what he needs, which is a pair of stainless steel scissors, barely used. The lights from the ceiling dance across the gleaming silver and he stares at the blades of steel in wonder for a while.

Before he knows it, one of the blades glides across the inside of his forearm.

The sting is more potent, along with the amount of blood produced. Tony stares in wonder, calculations flowing through his mind. _He's still alive_. Bleeding. Breathing.

It fades quickly. The feeling—that you're still here, leaving nothing but an empty shell. Tony stands in the middle of his basement, speechless, watching a thin stream of blood drip down his arm and splatter on the floor.

_One more couldn't hurt._


	2. resonance

In truth, Pepper knows Tony's spoiled. She knows that instead of her going out and messing with all of the PR and stuff, Tony could do it himself. Why she continues to do it, she's not sure of. To her, Tony seems just as content to stay home and fiddle with his suits as to make speeches on behalf of_ his _company, the one that _Pepper_ was running.

Pepper doesn't complain; the pay's better than it had been when she was just Tony's secretary, and the perks were nice too, but the sleepless nights she spent worrying over this company kind of dimmed the whole light on the situation. She did it because it made Tony happy, and that was what kept pushing her, because Tony's smiles were rare these days, and she would do anything to see his lips curve into that cocky smirk that everyone knows.

When Pepper's busy typing up things in the CEO office of Stark Industries she allows her mind to wander; she's been doing this business stuff for well over ten years, so far back that she doesn't really recall when she first started, so she's gotten the hang of typing something while thinking about affairs completely irrelevant to what was on screen, to the words spelled by her fingertips on the keyboard.

Her mind drifts to Tony, oddly, but she should expect it. She hasn't been home in a while to visit him, to take a break, so she's a bit worried about him. He doesn't take care of himself; sometimes Pepper literally has to drag him out of his basement to get him to eat and go out and get some sunlight. It's been like this, ever since Manhattan. Tony's been acting up, not eating, not sleeping for days on end until he collapses, and his intake of alcohol as drastically increased, so much that Pepper contemplates purging the house of alcohol till not a drop remains, but that wouldn't stop Tony.

She figures it's a distraction. From what, she's unsure of.

Pepper assumes it's his thoughts. Thoughts can be a dangerous thing, especially in the hands of a genius like Tony, a self-inflicting genius who pays little attention to himself and his needs, instead focusing it all on his work, most of the work not even aimed towards helping the company. Pepper assumes Tony's completely forgotten about the company, because it seems so, and Pepper's left with the burden to bear.

She doesn't complain. It's for Tony.

Let it be known that Pepper Potts has a skin of steel, so thick that something must be horrendous to even bother her. She formed this skin after all of her years working with Tony; she felt as if she had too, dodging all of the questions from the press and dodging Tony's snarky remarks without getting scathed wasn't as easy as it seemed.

So, when she gets a call from Tony's home phone she stops typing and stares at her phone. Not for too long though. She picks up and slowly answers it, unsure of herself. "Tony?"

"Miss Potts." The voice is not Tony's, but that of Jarvis. Pepper's whole being freezes and she stands up fast, heart racing in her chest. Something_horrible_ must have happened that Jarvis felt the need to call her, and she hadn't even known the fact that just Jarvis himself could call someone.

"Jarvis?" she whispers. "Jarvis, what's wrong?"

"Master Stark, something's happened to him," Jarvis explains. Even the AI seems shaken up, as if a nonexistent being had the ability to feel. "I've alerted emergency services, they should be here momentarily. Miss Potts, I believe you should come here posthaste."

"I am," she replies, already gathering her stuff and approaching the door leading out of the office. "I'll be there in no time. What happened to him, Jarvis?"

There's no answer to her question except for the silence, so she pleads, "Please, Jarvis. Please tell me."

There's a hesitant second before Jarvis says slowly, "Master Stark…for some reason inflicted injury upon himself…for intentions I have not yet deduced. That is as much as he wishes for me to enclose for now."

"He's conscious?" Pepper says, sliding into the her car and starting it just as quick. "Can I talk to him?"

"He is conscious but he is not coherent," Jarvis answers. There's some noise in the background. "The paramedics have arrived. I must hang up now, Miss Potts." He tells her which hospital they're taking him to.

"All right," she says as the line cuts off. Pepper tosses the phone in her purse and lays on the gas pedal hard, roaring out of the parking lot and onto the street. Tears burn in her eyes but she forces them away. She needed to stay strong. The resonance of Jarvis's voice still echoes through her mind. Something awful must have happened to Tony, self-inflicted or otherwise.

Tony's thoughts are a jumbled mess, a disaster. Each cut turns deeper and burns sweeter and more blood drips and pain flashes through his nerves like lightning crackling through the sky during a storm. Tony's whole being is a storm right now; a storm of anger and hatred for himself, a thunderous monster of agony and sadness that he's stuck in the middle of, and this—the blade—is like an umbrella to the torrent of loathing falling from the sky like a downpour of rain. He helps little, but the little help it gives is enough for him to go on and on and on until the edge of his vision is blurry and he can barely stand, and when his hands are coated in red he stops for a moment to recall his life until his vision blurs completely and black covers his eyes.

He's falling now, in a never-ending loop. The darkness continues and he knows he's going to be stuck in the limbo forever.

In the darkness he feels people prodding at him and things wrapping around him and being carried and laid down again. Things are stuck into him and out of him and he wants them all to go away, to leave him alone, and to let him wither and die. Because that's what he wants, he tells himself. To die. No not exist anymore. To have his life wiped away from Earth.

That's what's wrong with him. He's finally figured it out.

He doesn't want to exist anymore.


	3. perfect

White is a color Tony associates with cleanliness, purity, _perfection_. When he opens his eyes what he expects to see is nothing near those terms, in fact they would be antonyms, so he's confused when bright, brilliant white bleeds into his vision like a blooming flower. He has to shut his eyes because the brightness is blinding and his retinas sting. His eyelids flutter open and closed, trying to let his eyes adjust to the light and the figure coming into focus.

"Greetings, Stark," says a voice. Tony's mind races; he's heard that voice before, even though it was months ago. That tone, the accent was burned into his brain like a brand singed into flesh. The burn had faded but a scar remained, and this scar, Tony fears, will never diminish. It will stay imprinted in his mind and he will never be able to forget it. "I see you're not fairing as well as you were when Thor escorted me back to Asgard."

"Loki." Tony's voice has no emotion because he doesn't have the power to dredge it up.

"You seem cheerful," the god of mischief observes. "Odd, seeing as the situation you're in."

"What's my situation then?" Tony questions. It sounds as if he's unsure, himself.

Loki blinks, face amused. Tony's not. "The Midgardian drugs they must have given you seem to have impaired your memory. What a shame, really."

"I'm kidding, you ass." There's a spark somewhere in Tony's voice. If he wasn't careful that spark could turn into a fire. "I know what situation I'm in and I'm not sure as to why _you're_ in it."

Loki smirks, green eyes glinting like emeralds. "Who says I'm in it?"

Tony glares at him. "You're here. Right in front of me."

Loki rolls his eyes, gesturing to the world of white wrapped around them like a blanket. "Who is to say that I'm not here? Who has the gall to say that we're here, in being? How do we know that we're here at all, that this place is actually real?"

Tony puts up a hand, lip twitching. "Okay, Socrates, calm your nonexistent tits. I'm not here to query our existence and drive myself to the brink of insanity just because I can't find the answers."

"Haven't you already driven yourself mad, Stark?" Loki questions, a dangerous edge in his tone.

Tony stalls, the meaning of Loki's words unraveling in his mind like that of frayed string. Each thread comes undone and Tony examines it, grasping Loki's words and his heart pumps in his chest.

There's still blood on his hands. Slits on his wrists. Reality still exists and it's slowly returning to him.

"Don't you see, Stark?" Loki says, gesturing to the abyss of white they're in. Tony notices the white's starting to go grey. Heart throbbing, he returns his attention to Loki. His smile has turned twisted, and the walls grow darker and darker.

"Don't you remember this place? _The darkest corners of your mind?" _Loki cackles and Tony feels shivers travel up and down his spine. "Where all of your darkest fears and secrets lay and gather into a stagnant mass of anger and pain and agony? Am I ringing any bells in that mind of yours?"

Tony backs away slowly because his own mind is racing. Everything starts going wobbly around the tunnel of his vision and suddenly he's on his knees in front of Loki as the god approaches, smiling. Tony can't back away because his limbs are paralyzed by fear. Pure, unadulterated _fear._ Not of Loki, not of anything the smug bastard could do to him. He realizes the fear is of _himself_, because Tony is his own worst enemy.

"Your mind is a beautiful thing, Tony," Loki whispers, tilting Tony's chin up to stare him in the eyes. "A terrifying, beautiful thing."

When Tony's neck snaps under Loki's hands, that's when he wakes up.

Breath is sucked into Tony's lungs when his eyes open to the bright white of a hospital's ceiling and the smell of antiseptic stings his nostrils and a coughing fit rattles his frame. The world blurs into a collage of colors before him and the room spins. His head thumps back on the lumpy pillow and he forces himself to get it together before he loses his lunch. He breathes through his mouth slowly, gathering himself before opening his eyes again. Yeah, he's in a hospital room, and his eyes fall to his arms, which were hugged in a wrap of gauze.

He can't remember. He doesn't want to remember. Had he sliced that deep?

All he recalls his blood. Lots of blood. Slick, hot crimson falling through his fingers and the pain turning to numb. He shivers, yanking himself out of the dim memory.

Is that why he was here? Severe loss of blood, pushing him to the edge of death? So close, yet so far, because someone had pulled him from the fringe that he so desperately wanted to fall over. He's not sure if he should be grateful or spiteful. He doesn't dwell on it because there's a shadow behind the door and he can tell who it is, so he shuts his eyes just as the door cracks open and Pepper peaks her head inside to find a sleeping Tony.

She sighs, shutting the door behind her and pulling a chair up to Tony's bedside, heels clacking on the linoleum floor. The chair makes a soft noise as she sits and she wraps her hands around Tony's, warming them. Tony tries not to smile. Pepper, the only light of his life, comes to shine in this dark time.

"Tony," she breathes. Her voice is shaky and thick, thick with freshly-shed tears. "Tony, I know you can hear me. I just…why?" She lifts his hand to her head and starts to sob. "You worried me so much, I thought you had killed yourself, Tony! I would have never got to see you again, to hug you, to tell you off for not taking care of yourself, why would you do this?"

Tony feels his already fragile heart shatter in a million pieces.

"You could've told me if something was wrong, but you never _do_," she breathes shakily. "Can't you just realize that people actually _care_ about you? That if something were to happen we would all be devastated and heartbroken? Do you not realize that you're important to me?"

Pepper's words stab into him like needles and he tries not to flinch.

"I've called the others." Tony's ears prick. "We'll help you, Tony. We'll do the best we can."


	4. puzzles

Words can hurt. They can cut deep like a razor. Pepper's words were no exception. They bore down into Tony and slice him to ribbons, leaving him to bleed. He knew he should open his eyes and respond, but he just can't. The words he needs to convey his thoughts in a way Pepper would understand have apparently left his vocabulary, leaving him speechless; so he just stays quiet while Pepper continues murmuring. Her voice is soft and soothing to him, so he blocks everything out and concerns himself with nothing but her.

"All of the other Avengers—including myself—will try to help you to the best of our ability. The doctors…the doctors are suggesting psychological help from a professional, but I know how much you would hate that. Quite frankly, I don't think it would help you to tell your problems to a complete stranger…but who am I to say things like that?" Pepper's hand tightens around Tony's. "I don't know what you want. It's like…it's like I really don't even know you anymore, Tony."

Those are the words that make Tony's eyes sting with angry tears. They burn and Tony wishes them away like they're some sort of plague. It'll show that he's conscious and he hasn't the heart to face Pepper right now, slit wrists and everything in between.

Pepper sighs. There's a rustling as she reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. "I need to go. I need to help organize flights and make some calls. I would stay here with you, Tony. I would."

_Then why aren't you?_ Tony thinks, hearing Pepper stand. There's a sense of anger hanging in the room, maybe even distrust. Then the door opens and a nurse comes in with more medicine and then Tony's drifting again. The last thing he hears are Pepper's heels clicking on the floor as she whispers a goodbye and dismisses herself.

The thrumming of hospital machinery seems to be the only sound to pervade Tony's dreams. The medicine kicked in rather quickly and the world of consciousness left him to his own insensible devices. Even though he was knocked out cold, if was like there was a part of his mind that was still awake, the part that could form thoughts.

Inside of himself, Tony sits, and he thinks. He lets the part of his conscious mind wander and go over the events of the day so he can organize himself. He's tired of his mind always being a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories. He wants to organize his thoughts like one organizes a file cabinet, or files on a computer. Each thought and memory is reviewed and filed appropriately, and the unneeded ones are tossed away to that dark corner of Tony's mind, where all of the unwanted memories are left to fester like an infected wound.

He ignores it, just like he always does.

Because you see, though Tony's a superhero, he's actually a complete coward. Not because he runs away from the bad guys. Oh no, he would never run from a fight. It's because no matter what, he can never face his greatest enemy.

Himself.

When faced with this challenger, he pushes himself away and runs. Runs far, far away, and avoids the problem until it kills him. It will eventually end him, he realizes. A human can't hold all of these problems and not let them out without exploding. The shrapnel from his explosion will lodge in the hearts of the people that consider him worthy of their love, and the vicious cycle will continue. The circle starts and ends with Tony.

With this, Tony has come to another resolution. Maybe if he wasn't such a coward, then he could get himself sorted out instead of slashing his wrists like a psychopath and bleeding out.

"You've figured some of it out, Stark."

The voice breaks through the silence and it shatters like glass. The darkness warps and twists until Tony's eyes adjust and he's back in his hospital room. He's in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, not the dreaded hospital gown he had been forced to wear, and he's no longer attached to an IV. The room is dark, for the shades have been drawn, but a figure looming in front of the bed seems to give the room a darker atmosphere.

"Christ on a bike, Loki," Tony breathes out when the figure moves to reveal sharp cheekbones and glittering green eyes like that of emeralds. "Could you maybe not sneak up on me when I'm trying to get my life in order? It would be greatly appreciated."

Loki's chuckle is deep and sultry. "I apologize, Stark. I just found your revelations so intriguing that I just had to cut in. You're just beginning to scratch the surface."

"Scratch the surface of what?" Tony says, standing up. He feels like a brand new man. He glances down at his wrists. The slices still grace his arm like wonderful reminders. He sighs.

"_Yourself_," Loki tells him. He paces around the room, hands behind his back. "I find that humans are like puzzles, and you, my dear Anthony, happen to be one of the most intriguing puzzles I've ever lain my eyes on. I have the almost insatiable need to solve you, to take every piece and place it where it deserves and to just _figure you out_."

Tony smirks. "What, am I like your walking entertainment system or something? I'm not for free, you know."

Loki leers. "You're more like a walking enigma. The façade you've thrown up to fool the pathetic mortal media is useless. I can see through it clearly. Yet, there's something blocking me…I can't clearly see inside of you, Stark."

"Listen, reindeer games," Tony says, unsure. "I wasn't put on this earth solely to entertain you. I have much better things to do." Though, talking to Loki was an improvement from lying in a hospital bed nearly comatose from drugs.

"But what are those things, Stark? You obviously don't know." Loki's eyebrow cocks, expression smug. "You see, Stark, I believe you and I share a more profound bond than both of us want to believe. I have this strange urge to try to assist you through your…mortal troubles. Are you in understanding of what I'm trying to convey?"

Tony stares at him in disbelief. "You're saying you want to help me with my obvious psychological disorders." He laughs. "This coming from the same guy who thought it would be a great idea to chuck me out of a window? Yeah, okay. Sure. Why not?" Advice from another psychopath might just do him good.

Loki smiles. The way he smiles make something strike within Tony. It seems like a genuine smirk, and there seems to be a dab of hope in the grin. Tony wasn't sure of what Loki wanted to achieve with this apparent pact that was made between them. It seems as if Tony would just have to wait and see what unfolds.


	5. fine

Music is one of the many escapes Tony's made for himself. It blares loudly in the basement and it blocks everything with its heavy drumbeats and guitars. The music blocks out all noises that Tony considers annoying, so when something's going on around him and he's listening to blasting music, he probably won't notice it.

Case in point: when the doorbell rings Tony's completely unaware from the home he's made in the basement, but from the living room, where Pepper's busy arranging data, she picks up on it instantly and stands, setting her papers down. She brushes herself off and saunters over to the door. A flare of something sparks in her chest when she looks through the peephole to see Steve Roger's blue eyes and smiling face.

She opens the door as quick as she can and beams. "Hey, Steve!"

"Hiya, Pepper," he says. "Oh," he breathes when Pepper pulls him into a tight embrace. Steve drops the bags he's holding to return the hug. "Did you miss me?"

"More than you could ever begin to believe," she murmurs. Pepper has a lot of favorite people, and Steve was at the top of that list. He was sweet, courteous, and all-around just a good guy. "It'll be a nice change from having no life in the house."

"No life?" Steve repeats, a bit unsure. Behind him Pepper notices Natasha helping Bruce and Clint unpack. Pepper briefly wonders where Thor is, but then she remembers he's still probably in Asgard with his brother. "Is he that bad?"

Pepper nibbles her lower lip as the other's approach, hands full of bags with the items brought for their stay. Pepper really had no idea how long their stay would last; she just hoped that a few group therapy sessions would help at least.

"I'll explain once everyone gets settled," Pepper says quietly.

Once Pepper had escorted everyone to their proper rooms so they could drop off their stuff and get organized, they retired to the main room to discuss the main reason why they had taken a road trip here. Pepper had sent them emails (all except for Steve, he still didn't own a computer; he did know how to operate a cellular phone.) and they responded posthaste. She had made the description of the current situation less detailed than she would have liked, but she figured that it would have been better to explain in person what was going on. You just couldn't convey your feelings through email.

"So, as you might have guessed," Pepper says, eyes running over the people sitting on the sofa before her, "there's something wrong with Tony."

"That's nothing new," Clint mutters, causing Natasha to bury her elbow into his side.

Pepper continues. "Tony…" She's not sure how to word it. "...he hurts himself. On purpose. For reasons I haven't yet figured out."

There are no responses following Pepper's statement. She bites her lip, afraid that the other's would laugh, say it's silly, and to not take it so seriously. Because why should she? Tony was a grown man, what he did to himself shouldn't concern anyone. It's not like he almost killed himself.

"Could you be a bit more specific?" Steve murmurs, a hint of sympathy in his deep blue eyes.

Pepper swallows. Why's she tearing up? _It's all right,_ she tells herself. She had friends here, friends who would hopefully understand what's happening.

"Tony tried to kill himself by slitting his wrists."

The responses differ. Clint's eyes widen and he's no longer in his relaxed pose on the couch, but crouched over, elbows resting on his knees and gaze serious. Natasha's intake of breath is audible to everyone in the vicinity. Bruce's shoulders tense and he swallows. Steve's eyes are wide. Pepper understands. Suicide probably wasn't a common thing back in his time, most likely, so the news is probably quite a shock to his ears.

"He tried to _kill himself_?" Clint's voice is a hushed whisper. "Why?"

Pepper shakes her head. "The doctors say he's clinically depressed. They tried to put him on meds, but I told them they wouldn't work, he wouldn't take them. That's why I invited you to the tower. I thought…I thought that if we had a group therapy session it would help Tony." With each word that left her lips, her idea seems more mediocre. Tony Stark, opening up to a group of people, his comrades? Unheard of. Why did Pepper think that Tony would talk when he didn't even open up that much to _her?_

"Why didn't he tell anyone that he was…depressed?" Steve wonders, aloud.

"Sometimes talking about it just makes it worse," Bruce murmurs, and the tone of his voice draws all attention to him. "It's a mental illness. If you talked to most people today, and told them you had a mental illness, they would _shun you_. Call you a freak. Worthless." He pushes up his glasses. "And when all the words get jumbled up in your head you just start to believe them. And when you're just teetering a little off the edge, one little thing could push you off."

Silence proceeds Bruce's statement. He looks away, to the window, watching the sun sink below the horizon. Pepper's trying to formulate a response when she hears a door opening and the steps of feet. Before she can respond, Tony's up the stairs and facing them in a matter of seconds. Pepper's so shocked to see him out of his lab for once, and he doesn't look pretty—pallid face, dark circles dominating the area under his eyes, sallow cheekbones, mussed hair that probably hasn't been washed in days, untrimmed beard…he looked nothing like Tony, _her_ Tony. Her Tony, with a snarky comeback to anything, was now reduced to this…this pitiful _shell_ of a human being.

"So you actually went through with it."

Pepper blinks, seeing the others were off the couch and by her sides, looking at Tony from across the room. She tries to recollect herself to reply to her statement, but once a retort bubbled at her lips, she was cut off by Steve, trying to reason.

"Tony," he says, calmly. "Pepper told us about your little ordeal."

"My _ordeal?"_ Tony repeats, and there's just that hint of signature Tony spice hidden in the statement that gives Pepper a spark of hope. "I don't have an 'ordeal'. In fact, I really have no idea what you're talking about."

"You tried to kill yourself?" Steve says it so bluntly that Pepper has to force herself to not groan audibly. Great, the cat's out of the bag. "What, did you block that out of your mind, too?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did, until _you_ brought it up again," Tony snaps. There's color returning to his sallow cheeks. It's the first time in a while Tony's really shown any emotion. "By the way, thanks a lot, Capsicle, really appreciate reliving my failed attempts at suicide over and over again. Thanks. I really appreciate it."

Steve goes to speak again until Pepper shushes him. "Tony, we're just trying to help. Please realize that."

Tony grits his teeth in anger. "I _do_ realize that, but you're missing the point, Pepper. I'm _fine._ Perfectly, utterly _fine_. So I don't need your little superhero support group you've thrown together. I appreciate the thought, though."

Tony's turned around and heading back down the stairs before Pepper can utter a plea for him to stay. She knows it would be futile, though. Even though it was like every emotion was drained out of him, he would always be stubborn. He would always be Tony.

Just not _her_ Tony.


	6. stupid

**A/N: Whoops, I haven't updated in a while, I'm sorry, I tend to do that.**

* * *

Tony storms down back to the basement, leaving the others in his dust. He hears them calling after him, but he doesn't respond. Anger pulses through his veins, red-hot and searing. Why did everyone seem to think that he had finally lost his mind? He hadn't, he's perfectly fine! He doesn't need group therapy or any of that bullshit.

What he thinks he needs is to get away from it all.

That's what he plans to do. Tony enters the basement and slams the door, locking it with his new passcode that nobody except him and Jarvis knew. He tints the windows so no one can see in and he can't see out.

He delves deeper into the basement until he arrives at his destination: his suits. They're behind protective glass and they glow in the fluorescent light. They're one of Tony's creations that he's actually proud of. He built something that finally saved people, and hell, it might have just saved himself.

Tony touches the glass and sighs. He's startled when there's a sharp banging on the glass windows leading into the basement, and there's a shrill voice. "Tony, please don't do this!"

He sighs, a pit in his stomach forming. _Pepper_, he thinks. The tone of her voice sends pangs into his heart. He hates making her feel like this, but he can't help it. He knows she has good intentions, but sometimes good intentions can turn bad. Her help feels almost smothering to him.

He ignores the banging on the glass and the calling of his name. He focuses on getting the suit ready for takeoff.

"Master Stark, I am sure Ms. Potts and the other Avengers would not appreciate you leaving them like this. "

"Well, they're just going to have to suck it up and deal," Tony mutters, glaring at the HUD screen as he's soaring over Manhattan, taking in the sites. Night's fallen and the twinkling lights shimmer like the stars in the black sky. It sends waves of calm through Tony and he breathes deeply, letting his mind wander. The bluntness of Steve's words still stung him. He knows Pepper and the others had good intentions in mind, but why couldn't have Pepper asked him before she called all of the others?

_"_Sir, if I may suggest –" Jarvis begins.

"Jarvis, don't," Tony mutters, cutting him off. "If I don't need help from a group of real people then I most certainly don't need help from you."

_"_But sir_—"_

"Mute." Jarvis shuts up at the command, and Tony smiles at the silence that follows. Too many people want to help him but he doesn't want, or need, their help. He's perfectly capable of picking up the pieces of himself and sew himself back together. It's not rocket science.

His mind wanders back to Loki's 'offer'. It's almost like he can recall exactly what the man said, word for word.

_"You see, Stark, I believe you and I share a more profound bond than both of us want to believe. I have this strange urge to try to assist you through your…mortal troubles. Are you in understanding of what I'm trying to convey?"_

To sum it up, it sounded like Loki wanted to be his own therapist. He doesn't understand why the offer seems so titillating to him when he doesn't want help from anyone else. Maybe it was because they both had problems and they had a brief understanding of one another. Tony still finds it hard to accept help, especially from a guy who tried to _kill_ him.

Tony's too focused on this to pay attention to flying. It's only when he realizes he's losing altitude when the suit jerks and his attention snaps back to the HUD screen. His eyes widen when he realizes he's heading straight for the ocean.

"Dammit!" he hisses and tries to remain airborne, but the thrusters in the suit remained silent and he continues to head towards the body of water below him. He struggles in the air, trying to get the thrusters to light, but then something wraps around him and then there's no ocean under him, only a forest floor.

The arms slip off of him and he's left in the air and he has no time to light the thrusters when he hits the ground with a crash. The HUD display flickers off and he's left in black as the suit rolls into a tree, stopping it. His arms and legs ache from being tossed like a ragdoll and he grunts as he lifts up and arm to yank off his mask. He tosses it somewhere and opens his eyes to see the man who's been plaguing his thoughts leaning over him, like a dark cloud threatening to bring rain and thunder.

"You are truly the stupidest mortal I have ever had the displeasure of acquainting with," Loki mutters, glaring down at him with a glint in his green eyes. There's a slight sneer in his expression as he offers a hand, slim fingers positioned as if he was offering to help Tony up. Tony snorts.

"You're not gonna lift me up with your flimsy little arms," Tony mutters, but Loki ignores him and grabs his hand, leaning back and yanking.

Tony yelps when he feels himself being heaved up by Loki, and when he's on his feet he gawps at the other in surprise and uttermost shock. Loki cannot conceal his cocky smirk. "Just because I am not truly Asgardian does not mean I don't possess some of their skills. One skill being able to lift up a three-hundred pound suit with a scrawny little man cocooned inside."

At this, Tony stiffens. Loki's still holding on to his armored hand and he slowly releases it, dropping it to his side. Loki's eyes run over him and they narrow.

"You're injured."

Tony doesn't pay attention to this statement, and instead focuses on something else. "Why did you save me?"

Loki scoffs. "Why ask questions you will never get answers to?"

Tony grimaces at Loki's response. He remembers that Loki is a pretentious asshole and he would most likely never get a straight answer out of him. Loki will always dance around things because he knows it pisses Tony off, and _anything_ that pisses Tony off was something Loki needed to do.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tony grouses when the other's hand reaches up to prod at Tony's forehead. The hand withdraws with blood dripping from the fingers. "Oh."

"Exactly, 'oh'," Loki mimics, shaking his head. He rubs the blood on his fingers with his thumb, spreading it around until all of his fingers are coated in the crimson liquid. "As I had asked previously before you interrupted with pointless queries, you're _injured_."

"It's only a scratch, I'll be fine," Tony grumbles as Loki flicks his suit and it comes apart, falling at his feet. Tony's eyes widen and he glares at Loki. "What the hell, man?"

"Oh, look, you're already starting to bruise." The other man's eyes are on Tony's arms which were already purpling. "Humans are such fragile things."

"I'm still not sure why you saved me," Tony says, voice quiet. "Did I miss something? Did you send a memo I didn't get?"

"For Odin's sake, Stark, I said I would help you with your troubles," Loki says. "That includes stopping you from killing yourself."

Something flares in Tony's stomach. "I did _not_ try to kill myself. The thrusters in the suit, they stopped working, and—"

Loki puts up a hand. "Save it, Stark. I don't want to hear your explanations."

Tony sighs and he's starting to feel blood running down his face. He touches where the blood's pouring from and swallows at the amount of blood that rubs onto his hand. He glances up at Loki and the other studies him back. It seems as if Loki's outline's becoming blurred and he squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again.

"Troubles, Stark?" the other man asks, and Tony's put off by the tone of genuine concern in his voice.

"Erm." Tony takes a deep breath. "Yeah, um. I think I need to go back to the house."

Loki cracks a smirk. "I would only be happy to escort you…_Tony_."


	7. intermission I - icarus

_His childhood is a sad one. From the time he emerged from the womb to when he would pass on, he was destined to lead a miserable existence, and he was fated to pull others down with him. His childhood was full of anger and empty promises, violence and the scent of whisky tainting the air. He starts drinking when he's ten years old, and no one stops him, because no one bothers to care. Mommy and Daddy are too busy with business to come home and visit their son and the nannies are mean, vicious; the beat him and tell him he's worthless, and when the words are drilled into his head long enough he begins to believe them. _

_First he turns to the bottles nestled in Daddy's alcohol cabinets. The taste is raw and bitter but he grows used to it as days go on and he grows into a teenager. Hormones raging, he throws parties and does all sorts of drugs and drinks until he blacks out, waking up with vomit dribbling down his chin next to girls whose names he doesn't even know. _

_He begins to pick himself up when he graduates high school early to move to MIT. No one congratulates him on admittance except for Obadiah Stane, since Mom and Dad were killed in a car accident. Stark Industries falls into Tony's hands and it will crumble without Obi helping him hold it up._

_When the incident happened that gave him the arc reactor he had never been more scared in his life. The poking and prodding and pain still burn in the back of his mind today like a rash, and no matter how much aloe he slathers on it, it won't go away. It only seems to grow and mutate into something worse and worse._

_He felt hope build up inside of him at building the first Iron Man suit. To think that his own hands were capable of building something that amazing sent a shiver of optimism through his bones, but he doesn't get his hopes up too much. He examines the process as he builds more Iron Man suits and with each successful model his confidence grew to almost uncontainable amounts. _

_When Obi betrayed him he felt his hope diminish slightly. He was reminded of the intentions most people hide from the public and his trust in others begins to flicker out once again. Pepper and Rhodey are the only ones that he holds an inkling of trust to and his worst fear is that the trust he has in them will one day be lost. _

_Then came the height of his career; along with his ego. Never before had it been so inflated, and with one pinprick he would deflate and fall, fall, fall, with no one to catch him. His fight with Vanko knocked him to his senses and he did not like it. _

_That was the height of his life and now he's watching everything crumble to dust, watching as it blows in the wind. His life has been nothing but ups and downs like a damn rollercoaster and it jars his mind and he's sick of it, sick of it all. He feels like he's Icarus, with his beautifully crafted wings he soars across the oceans._

_It's not enough. He climbs towards the heavens, to the sun, and it begins to burn. The heat is too much and the wax supporting his wings begins to melt and he's beginning to fall, fall, fall. _

_He'll fall into the abyss of blackness and it will caress him and soothe him and tell him it's all right. _

_And the darkness is his greatest enemy yet a good ally._

Tony wakes up with a face full of concrete and his arm tingling. He's lying on his side in his basement and he's drenched in sweat from the dream he had, and his eyes search around the room for any threat, anything that's not supposed to be there. He realizes he shouldn't be there, but he vaguely remembers Loki promising to take him home, but he can't trust his judgment at the moment, because he feels like he's on the edge of a breakdown and he was about to fall right into one.

He scrambles up and staggers over to the desk containing his tools, the screws, drills, cords, wires, and his eyes struggle to pick out what he's searching for. He knows he shouldn't, but he's going to, he needs to, the desire rushes through his veins and it _burns_ him. Tears threaten to fall and he lets them because honestly, he doesn't care anymore. Reliving his life like that, all in a dream was too much, and it sent him over the edge.

His hands clumsily search through the tools only to not find the thing he's looking for, and Tony lets out an angry growl. He rushes over to the drawers and throws them open, digging through their contents like a madman and making irritated noises when he can't find the one thing he desperately needs right now.

The room's starting to spin and Tony feels dizzy and he stops in the middle of the room, breathing in deeply, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He threads his fingers through his hair and sinks to the concrete floor, an angry sob yanked out of his chest. He can't be seen light this, in a pitiful ball of self-hatred and anger, but Tony doesn't bother moving from the spot he's made himself on the floor. Tears stain his cheeks and his eyes fall to the slashes on his wrists, barely healed. He begins to pick at the scabs and blood wells to the surface, and there's a voice screaming inside of him, _Tony, you daft son of a bitch! _

Tony grits his teeth together, tears dripping onto the concrete. He curls into a ball and wads his hair into his hands and fights the sobs bubbling in his chest and beginning to overflow from his throat out of his mouth. He wants someone to tell him it will all be okay, but at the same time, he doesn't want to hear all of that candy coated bullshit. It's not okay, and it will never be okay. Tony's life was a train wreck and it has been ever since he was born.

_Stop wallowing in self-pity, Stark, _a voice hisses in his mind. He begins to wonder if he's truly gone insane. All of these voices at once, talking in his head and having conversations with each other, it was extremely frightening. _People can't help you until you learn to help yourself. Depressed or not, I don't give a flying fuck. _

_I can't just force myself to get up, _he decides to reply, and he can feel anger from the other voice in his mind and he's starting to become tremendously upset with himself. _Depression or whatever you wanna call it doesn't work like that. It has its own schedule, its own plans. It doesn't care about who you are or what you do, how much money you have or how great your life is. _

_If depression doesn't give two shits about you, then why are you letting it take over your life? If depression doesn't care about you, then don't care about depression._

_It doesn't work like that—_Tony stops when he realizes he's arguing with himself.

He turns away from the concrete to stare up at the ceiling, eyeing the fluorescent lights hanging above him. They shine brightly like they're the sun, and he's too close. His wings are melting and he's starting to fall.

For some reason, right now he feels like someone will catch him.


	8. motivation

_(A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry for the wait on this chapter. I think this is the longest chapter I've written so far! Please enjoy, and review!)_

* * *

Morning comes swift and Tony wakes up to a familiar place: his room, where he used to sleep until the basement became his temporary home. The shock instantly wakes him up, and the sunlight beaming through the windows causes him to squint. Waiting for his eyes to adjust, he sighs softly and scrubs a hand down his face, goatee tickling his callused hands.

How did he get here? He remembers waking up in the basement, and for some reason all of the memories he had locked up inside of him decided to break free and rush over him in waves of unwelcomed nostalgia. He didn't have an anchor, he could barely swim, and he almost drowned.

Tony doesn't remember journeying up from his cave to his bedroom. Truthfully, he doesn't remember a lot of things after the events that happened last night. All he can recall his crash landing in his suit (no thanks to a certain god), talking to Loki about pointless shit, waking up in his basement, and then waking up in this bed.

All of the recollection of the past makes his head throb and he squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again, and breathes deeply. He wonders if he should make himself get out of bed, but he fears what lies outside of the closed door to his bedroom; the fire-breathing dragon known as his on and off girlfriend, Pepper Potts, maybe, along with all of his Avenger buddies.

Tony groans audibly, head dropping into his hands. He'd completely forgotten that they were here. The remembrance almost makes him want to crawl into a fetal position under the covers and never leave the vicinity of his room ever again. He had to admit, he missed the soft bed and the warm covers, but he would have to come out eventually.

But eventually didn't have to be soon.

So, that's what Tony did. Like the child he was, he sank back under the covers and curled into a ball and closed his eyes. Even though sleep had evaded him for a while anyway, it was nice to just sit in silence and let the ringing in his ears block out everything.

"Sir, I cannot permit you to do this any longer."

Tony cringes, completely forgetting the last variable in the equation. "Jarvis, don't even start with me right now. I'm not in the mood."

"I am not trying to start anything with you, Master Stark. I'm simply suggesting you stop running away from your problems like a child and start facing them like an adult." Jarvis's tone displays emotion the like of which Tony's never heard. Did Tony program that much emotion into his AI?

"No need to be a smartass about it," Tony grumbles into the mattress, pulling the blanket over his head. "Didn't know I programed you to be so sassy."

He can almost hear a smirk in Jarvis's response. "I learned from the best, of course."

"Yeah, of course," Tony agrees, and he can't help but let his lips quirk up a little. There was something about Jarvis that could always perk his dampened spirits up, even if it was just a bit. He still doesn't move from the position he's in. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

The AI pauses for a tick and Tony's heart picks up, but it slows down when Jarvis's smooth accented voice fills his ears. "I don't believe there's anything necessarily _wrong_ with you, sir. I just believe that you happen to be going through some bad times."

The words fill Tony's head and they bounce around for a bit until they settle and Tony can gauge their meaning. He smiles to himself and murmurs, "Thank you, Jarvis. That really means a lot to me."

"You're very welcome, sir," Jarvis replies, and it's genuine. Tony marvels at the creation he's borne into the world, given life to and intellect and it almost takes his breath away. Out of all his creations Tony treasures Jarvis the most. The electronic butler would most likely always hold a special place in Tony's heart.

Tony decides that Jarvis is right, that he needs to grow a pair and face his problems like a man. With this in mind, he concludes he needs to leave the protection of his room and venture down to the dungeon of the living room, avoid the guards and reach his destination at the top of the proverbial tower: the kitchen, where coffee was stored, waiting to be rescued and made into a brew. Tony sighs; he can almost smell the coffee, hear the dripping as it falls into the pot below it.

This gives him the motivation he needs. Sucking in a deep breath while cracking his knuckles, Tony places a hand on the doorknob, curling his fingers around the cold metal, and twists it, the clicking noise that comes after like a sonic boom in the silent room. He flinches, and then slowly opens the door, wincing at the slight creaks it makes. He makes a mental note to spray some WD-40 on it later, if he decides he wants to sleep in his bed again.

Tony slinks down the hallway like a cat out on a late-night prowl, scenting out its next prey. His steps are light and his breathing soft, as if the tiniest sound would send alarms blaring and alert every one of his presence. The thought makes his stomach churn.

His heart picks up the pace when he reaches the living room, only to see no one was there. He breathes out a soft sigh of relief and wipes the nonexistent sweat from his brow; another crisis averted.

He feels a bit bad for feeling relief, since Jarvis had told him he needed to face his problems. But, seeing as he forced himself out of the safety of his room and the warmth of his bed, he figures he's doing well so far. Facing his problems isn't gonna be a simple walk in the park. He would need to drag himself, crawl, and then teach himself how to walk.

But, sometimes you gotta run before you can walk.

Thoughts taking his attention, he doesn't realize he's in the kitchen until he bumps into the island in the middle of the room. Tony blinks, then shakes his head, taking in his surroundings. His hands scour about the cabinets and drawers until he comes across the tub of coffee grounds and he can't contain the sound of joy that bubbles at his lips. He puts the container on the counter and goes to search for filters.

"Looking for these?"

The voice shocks him, and from where Tony's at inside a cabinet, he nearly hits his head. He withdraws and looks around frantically, eyes searching the room for the source. He recognizes the voice before he sees the face.

Steve's standing a few feet away from him, holding a bag of coffee filters in his hand. Tony's eyes widen at the site of the coffee filters and he has to hold himself back from knocking Steve over and stealing the thing in his hand.

He scoffs to himself. Like he could knock Steve over; he was built like a jock with the face of an angel, if that was saying much. If Tony punched him he'd probably break his own wrist.

"Yeah, I actually was. Um." Tony feels like he's trapped, even though he could basically sprint back to his room at any time. "Thanks?"

"Not a problem," Steve says, tossing the other the filters. Tony catches them with the grace of a giraffe unaware of its own limbs, nearly dropping it on the floor. His eyes rest on his hands and he's shaking, his heart's pounding like a bass drum, and his breathing is going funky.

_Deep breaths, Stark. You can do this._ A voice in his head whispers. _Steve's not gonna hurt you, he's like a little golden retriever puppy. Just take a few deep breaths and try to not lose your shit._

"Tony?"

Steve's voice jerks him out of his reverie, and Tony's chocolate brown eyes fall on Steve's sky blue ones. He breathes deeply through his nose and says, "Care for a cup of coffee?"

They sit in silence, waiting for the coffee to brew. Steve pulls a loaf of bread out of the pantry an d pops a few pieces into the toaster, whistling softly as he goes. Tony watches him through slit eyes but doesn't say anything.

Soon the coffee's done and Tony pours himself a cup, watching the steam swirl from the freshly-brewed liquid. Steve helps himself and spreads some jelly on his toast, taking a bite as he stirs some sugar and cream into his coffee. Tony just takes his straight black. The bitter tang is like a slap to his face and right now, he needed it badly.

They stand in silence sipping their coffee, leaning against the counter. Tony stares straight ahead, mind buzzing with scenarios of what could happen. Or, maybe nothing would happen; maybe he's just dreaming and he's back in his bed, sleep shielding him from the horrors of the real world.

"Tony?" Steve asks quietly and the other man suppresses his cringe at his name.

"Yeah, Steve?" he replies, voice gruff.

"Um, I just wanted to…apologize, for the things I said. You know, when I first arrived." Steve twiddles his thumbs. "It was wrong and stupid for me to say, and I'm really sorry. I wasn't thinking."

The words hang in the air until Tony takes them in. He swishes them around in his brain and gargles them, swallows them up and lets them disappear. He slurps his coffee, replying, "You're forgiven, Cap. It's all right, you didn't know."

There's a sparkle in Steve's blue eyes but Tony doesn't see it. "Really? Thank you so much, Tony. You don't know how much that means to me."

"Yeah, don't mention it," Tony mumbles into his cup.

Steve chuckles, leaning back against the counter. "I was so afraid you weren't going to forgive me and I don't know why."

"Why wouldn't I forgive you?" _Aren't I a forgiving person?_

Steve shrugs. "I honestly don't know. I just…when Pepper summarized your dilemma for us I was honestly shocked. Appalled, even. This…this whole suicide ordeal—back in my day, it was _extremely_ taboo. And it still kind of is, to me, even though I've been in the future for a few years. And that's why I said all of those things to you…because I was so shocked. I couldn't comprehend why you would want to take your own life."

Silence proceeds Steve's statement and it rings in Tony's ears like church bells on a Sunday morning. He smirks into his coffee, finishing the mug and setting it into the sink, running hot water into it. Steve's staring at him in expectancy, awaiting an answer.

"Well," Tony says, dusting his hands off. "I'm suppose I'm selfish for wanting to end my own life. It would end my suffering but cause another's." He laughs to himself. _Wow, I'm such a piece of shit._

Steve's face drops. "Tony, don't say that."

Tony shrugs. A piece of his dark hair falls in front of his eyes. "Thanks for the apology. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business to take care of."

"Wait, Tony, before you go," Steve says, and Tony stalls. "I just wanted to ask—are you feeling any better? Any better at all?"

Tony freezes completely, the urge to tell the truth tickling at the back of his mind like an annoying feather. He brushes it away and says, "Yeah, I'm doing better. Really. Thanks for asking."

And then he leaves Steve alone in the kitchen for his workshop.

When the door closes softly behind him, Tony's sure Steve knows he's not okay. He's _never_ been okay. At this rate, he'll by no means be okay.

He leans back against the door and bangs the back of his head against the glass softly, silently cursing himself. Steve could see through him like glass and read him like a book and pick out all of his typos. He _hated_ that about Steve, how he could tell there's something wrong when you try to hide it.

He shakes his head, dismembering the thoughts that were becoming stagnant. Letting his mind stay too focused on these things was bad; he needs a distraction. He pushes himself away from the door and to his workbench, craving the feeling of metal wrapped in his hands and the rush he gets when one of his inventions works.

Tony's hand reaches out to wrap around a wrench but another hand grabs his midway and he jolts and the sudden contact. The flesh is freezing; it's like the skin is pure ice. His eyes trail up the limb to the face of the owner, and he sighs softly. Loki's glaring at him, green eyes narrowed slightly. Tony grinds his teeth together but doesn't pull away, waiting for the other to at least say something.

"I see you've pulled yourself out of bed," Loki remarks, and Tony feels like slapping that smirk off the cocky bastard's face. "I don't know if I should feel proud or surprised."

"Both, both is good." Tony's eyes fall to their hands. "You ever hear of gloves? They're this new invention, very helpful for cold hands. I suggest you get some."

Loki's smirk curls into an unamused grimace and he removes his hand, flexing his fingers as his arm falls down to his side. Tony immediately jerks his hand away, afraid of Loki grabbing it again.

"What do you want, Loki?" Tony grouses, eyeing the other as if Loki were planning on attacking. He wouldn't be surprised.

"I've just come by to inquire on your condition," the other replies, no tone of mischief in his voice. Tony's still not so sure.

"My condition is fine, thank you very much. You can leave now." Tony wasn't feeling this whole conversation thing. He just wanted to be left alone with his scraps of metal and equations.

Loki's brow cocks at Tony's response, and his emerald colored eyes drift down to Tony's wrists. In a swift movement Loki has Tony's hands in his grip and he's looking at Tony's wrists. Eyes narrowing, he doesn't react when Tony tries to yank himself away to no avail.

"Hm. You picked at your cuts. They were healing well, too. They'll most certainly leave scars now." Loki stares at Tony with frosty green eyes. "Why did you do this, Stark? You obviously aren't doing fine if you did this to yourself."

Tony grits his teeth, the cold of Loki's hands searing into his skin. He figures if he sucks it up and tells the truth Loki will leave him alone. He wasn't counting on it, though, so he's still a bit unsure when he opens his mouth and spills his guts.

"I had a flashback last night," Tony mumbles, not meeting Loki's glare. "Not really a flashback. I don't know what to call it. It's like every bad memory I had that I kept locked in the back of my mind broke through the dam and flooded and I couldn't stop it."

Loki stares at him for the longest time, waiting for him to make eye contact. After a while, he sighs, letting Tony's hands fall to his sides.

"I thought you could handle it," Loki murmurs, and Tony's ears prick. "But apparently not. I even thought that the voice inside your head would help. I guess my assumptions were off."

Tony's brow furrows when his mind strains to comprehend Loki's words. "What do you mean? Are you saying—you're the one who caused the flashbacks?"

Loki's expression said it all. Rage flares through Tony's veins and his hands clench into fists at his sides. "What the hell is wrong with you, you asshole? What gives you the right to go through my thoughts and memories?" Tony steps closer so that their toes are touching. Loki's taller than him but that didn't intimidate Tony one bit. "I'll let you in on the answer. _Nothing. Nothing at all._ Mind your own fucking business."

Loki chuckles at Tony's rage. "Ah, I figured this would be your reaction. Quite typical. I don't know why I'm so shocked."

Tony backs away, anger making his usual steady hands shake and his heart pump swiftly against the arc reactor. "I can't believe I trusted you for the amount of time I did." He covers his eyes with his hands. "I don't know why I was so stupid. Oh my god."

"Oh, quit complaining," Loki mutters, tone annoyed. "If this bothers you then you're going have a hell of a time with our sessions." He chuckles. "I did this because you need to realize that you won't benefit from my help until you face your greatest enemy: and that enemy is yourself, Stark."


End file.
